


Hero Worship

by anotherjadedwriter



Series: Another Lifetime [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Bulges and Nooks, M/M, Stomach Bulge, porn with vague plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imperial Secuwrathy training never prepared you for someone like him. He's your superior, so of course you respect him. Of course. And, you mean, who wouldn't find him attractive? It's perfectly normal and not at all a crush. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He is, unsurprisingly, enormous. His horns almost touch the ceilings when he stands, like he is now, stretching his back and yawning and looking generally sleepy. You really shouldn’t be sneaking around like this, peeking around doorways to spy on the Grand Motherflipping Highblood, but here you are, watching him through a crack between the doors like a wriggler who did something bad before their lusus got hive.

You haven’t done anything, of course. The Highblood runs a tight ship, and you are no exception. In fact, you get honors on all your reports, and you’ve never had even one mark on your record. You’re probably one of the best in your sector, something between secuwrathty and an actual officer, and you want for him to just  _notice_  you, as silly as it is. You want him to see you and tell you that you’re great, even for a piece of lowerblooded filth.

You mean, he’s the  _Grand Mothergrubbing Highblood_ , who doesn’t want respect from him? The fact that thinking about him even just, talking to you at all, alone, makes your bulge try to push into your nook is an entirely different beast altogether. Obviously. It’s perfectly healthy to have a little, tiny, miniscule flushcrush on him; he’s impressive, in all aspects of the word. Obviously.

His neck cracks when he rolls it and your hands flex in your gloves. You made this whole suit so you can’t be too strong, and your fingers on the doorframe don’t break it because of that. That, and the training you put in, every night, teaching yourself not to touch too hard. You’ve been improving on that, too, and it’s just another thing you want to hear from his lips.

Nonchalant isn’t a word you’d relate to him, but he sounds that way when he speaks, his voice smooth and deep enough to rattle your teeth a little. Or maybe that’s fear. “You ain’t so sneaky I can’t tell you’re there. C’mere and tell a motherfucker what’s got you spying all the time.” He doesn’t sound upset, but you know that can change in an instant.

"S-please forgive me, Highblood, sir." You start, head down as you walk to stand at the foot of the stairs leading to his throne. You pull a quick salute before staring at the ground again. "I, uh, I didn’t."

He laughs, and you feel your shoulders tense at the footsteps getting closer to you. “Motherfucker, I ain’t boutta club you. You’re in no trouble with me.” He’s so calm, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth in a lazy grin. At once, you see the resemblance Gamzee always talks about, as well as the fact that he must have known you were spying on him since you started.

"I… I wasn’t planning anything." You manage, lifting your head but not looking at him. "You are just, I… I wanted to speak with you. But in my position it was wrong of me."

The Highblood is right beside you when he speaks. “You’re Zahhak, right? Heard on you. How you like training?” The tone of his voice makes your shoulders relax a little, and you don’t even squeak when he bends at the knee to look you in the eye, one hand holding his messy hair up. You chuckle despite yourself, and he smiles this warm thing at you. “There you go, motherfucker’s cuter when he smiles.”

"Oh." You feel color flood your face and blood flood the folds of your nook when you realize what he’s said. "Th-thank you, sir. I’m, I enjoy my training quite a bit. I feel I am learning a lot." You lick your lips, which have gone all dry.

He rumbles a little purr and your sweating gets just, so bad. “You gotta know all the scents you lay out, Zahhak. It’s Equius, right? Cute little motherfucker, you smell like you ain’t came here just to tell me you like training.” That purr is still going, so close you can feel it in the hollow space just under your bilesack. His painted lips are close to your ear and you know he can tell how much you’re blushing now. “Tell me what you want.”

"I." You try, your voice a croak. He reaches out like he half wants to soothe you, and you spit it out too fast, your words running into each other. "I just want to please you."

His hand catches up under your jaw and you kind of whine when he looks you in the eye, holding you so you can’t look away. “Wanna tell me how you’re plannin on that?” The claws on your skin should scare you, but he’s doing his best to hold them away from your throat, so you relax a bit.

"A-anything." You murmur, swallowing hard. He rubs his thumb over your bottom lip and you’re so tempted to lick at it. "Anything you want. I only wish to serve you, sir."

The Grand Highblood of the Alternian Empire leans in a little closer and you accidentally taste the skin of his thumb when you wet your lips. “That mean I can kiss you, Equius?” His lips are really close, and you can see the smudges in his Face around them.

"Please." You squeak this time, fists clenched so tight you think you might break the circutry in your gloves. "Please, Highblood."

You purr when he kisses you, his nose kind of squashing against yours for a second. He tilts his head and leans in a little more, his tongue prodding at your lips before wrapping around your tongue when you open your mouth for him. You let out a little moan when he sucks on your tongue, then nibbles at the tip of it gently, his teeth are sharp enough that he could draw blood without even trying but he doesn’t. His hand runs through your hair and you purr, all weak in the knees when he pulls away.

"Cute motherfucker." He coos, rubbing a thumb against the base of your horn. "Sweet thing like you, makin all them noises like that."

The blue on your face, you’re sure, must look like you’ve been getting slapped silly, and your ears twitch when he touches them, your lips in a shy little grin. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” You lick your lips and his eyes follow it, then move back to your own.

"Equius, little motherfucker." He purrs, leaning in to nip at your ear before drawing his tongue over it soothingly. "Think you wanna do that again? A brother could get used to some kinda little blueblood blushflushin in their lap."

If you were blushing before, you’re near passing out now, but you manage a nod, a squeaked “yes, please” and you don’t grab at him when he lifts you under your knees and around your back. He purrs, not seeming to mind when your hands find his hair. He’s biting little blue marks into your throat before you even get seated in his lap, in his block and not his throneroom, thankfully. You’re a mess, really, your nook ruining your pants at the seat and your voice running off with you, because he’s obviously caught on with how much you just, really want his praise.

"Fuckin pretty little thing." He purrs, hands running down your sides appreciatively. "All strong and tough, hm? And that hair, nice and soft." His voice is halfway to reverent, like it is when he’s leading a sermon (you’ve only managed to peek in on that twice). "Lovely motherfucker like you, musta had your share of fights, betcha won all of them?"

You take a second to respond, leaning your head down to get your hair (“nice and soft” echos in your ears) to cover your face. “Yes, sir. Grand Highblood, sir, I-I’ve been training for so long, for almost my whole life.” Hopefully, you don’t sound like a groupie. You kind of feel like one.

"Only known you a small while, Equius. Sure you’re tougher than the reports keep sayin, though." His voice is smooth, calm but not calculated. "Don’t mean to get it in your pan that I’m gonna push you ahead from somethin such as this. Just that I been seein you and wanted to get a feel on."

Your ears fall and you sound probably a bit more haughty than you should, since he has just paid you a complement in saying that he just likes you in general. “Sir, I would never consider stooping to such a level to advance myself. If I cannot achieve a proper status on my own then I do not deserve it.” The affected scoff you let out should be in some stuffy courtroom, not the Grand Goshdarn Motherflipping Highblood’s personal block, where you’re in his lap probably staining his pants with your prematerial, but here you are, scoffing.

"Well." He starts, chuckling. "Glad you gone and told me so I can talk at you and not think I’m gonna send you packin." His fingers tickle under your chin and you smile a little, tiny smile, but it gets wider when he smiles back. "Can I get you shed a these so I can look on you?"

You nod, hands moving to your armor but being quietly replaced at your sides. He unclips the armor easily, tossing it aside piece by piece, and you move to make it easier when you need to, lifting yourself up to help him with the leg guards. It occurs to you, somewhere in the back of your mind, that he doesn’t wear this armor, though he’s pretty quick at taking it off. You push that thought out of your head when his lips find your pulse.

His fingers undo the zipper of your suit quickly, and you sigh shakily as he slides his hands under it and across your chest. It feels better, even, than when you’ve had to wear the suit for nights on end on a mission and you can finally peel it off to deal with the circuit burns in your skin. He’s going slowly, tracing the blue-flushed marks from the suit with just his fingertips, eyes half-lidded when he pulls away to look at you.

"Been getting some hurt, huh?" You pretend to hear some amount of awe in his tone. "Shame, pretty young thing like you all burned up."

Your nook twitches at the word ‘pretty’ and you vainly hope he doesn’t notice. “I-I, it does not hurt very badly. And it keeps me from doing more harm than good.” You can’t help but feel embarrassed, a little, about the fact that you have too much strength to know what to do with.

"Still a shame." He murmurs simply, kissing you and peeling your suit back off your shoulders, to around your waist. When he stops again you almost whine, following his lips a ways. "Make sure and tell me if you wanna stop, kid. Ain’t gonna let you get hurt none."

You nearly say “you won’t hurt me”, but you catch yourself, nodding instead. “Yes, sir. I don’t want to stop,  _please_.” The last word is hardly Alternian, more a feral keen, because his fingers crook and his claws just graze your grubscars.

He purrs, peeling you further out of your suit, and you take a moment to drop your gloves on the floor, because as much as you’d rather have put them carefully away, you don’t want him to get impatient. Though, looking at it, you realize how slow he’s going is more for your sake than his; you can feel what you assume to be his bulge through his pants, but he’s not grinding it into you, just tracing your chest and laving his tongue over your neck, over the little bites he sets against your skin.

Wordlessly, your head falls back, and he takes that as the invitation it is to leave a proper mark, his teeth nearly breaking the skin of your throat and pulling a pained whine from your throat. It hurts, almost enough that you want to push him away, but then he’s soothing you all over, petting at your hair and your chest. It’s like you flipped from flush to pitch to pale, never quite leaving any of the others before you move on. The bruises are starting to form, you can feel them, but they don’t hurt like someone bit you with the intent to hurt.

It feels more like just too much attention to something already sensitive, not exactly painful enough to really hurt (however that makes sense), but enough to make you react. You sigh, your hips rolling without you putting thought to it, when he laves his tongue over the spots where the points of his fangs nearly broke through. Your hands find their way into his mess of hair and press him closer, shifting in his lap to let his hands slide under your second skin, pulling down off your legs before you remember that your boots are still laced too tight to kick off.

The Highblood laughs, hands moving to grip your thighs and pulling you up until you have no real choice but to stand or fall over. “Lemme get that. Keep standin.” His breath bounces off the blue on your thighs and you shiver, toes curling in your boots when he peels your suit past your thighs.

He makes some kind of growl and you make yourself look down in time for him to lean in and drag his tongue over your nook, up to your sheathe. Your hands grip in his hair and he chuckles, freeing one of your feet (you really hope that wasn’t a rip you heard) and lifting your leg over his shoulder. You can hardly suck in enough air to manage the moan you do before he’s got his tongue  _inside_  you, his thumbs pulling your nook open.

You curl over him, falling between his impressive horns and clawing at his vest, the wall behind him, panting noises that sound rough and needy, and he’s making his own, equally needy and more than a little selfish, between the kind of gross wet noises he makes. When he pulls back to breathe you whine, uncurling yourself to try and present yourself to him, apparently forgetting that he’s literally got his face between your legs.

He looks up at you and makes a point of licking his lips, the blue running down his chin making you whimper. “Nice little nook you got, hm? Pretty blue.” He kisses your thigh and eases two fingers into you, pressing them right up against this too-hot spot inside you and making you writhe and nearly go limp. Your other thigh shakes from the strain. “Want me to get in you, or use my mouth again?”

The sound you make doesn’t even remotely sound like an answer, more just a general sound of “fuck yes”, and he just chuckles, leaning in again to drag his tongue over your nook, his fingers fluttering and finally letting up the pressure against that oversensitive bundle of nerves or whatever it was. You coo softly, rocking against him a little, feeling your stomach tighten maybe a little faster than you’d really like. He’s careful not to prod at your sheathe, even though with it swelling like it is it kind of aches, in your globes and your bulge itself.

Very suddenly, it seems, he latches his lips around your pleasure nub, sucking hard and dragging his tongue over it almost roughly. If you’d had any control over your voice before, it’s gone now. You barely manage not to grip at his horns for fear of snapping them, instead just grabbing your shin with one hand and your shoulder with the other, your voice breaking as you come. He hums, still pushing you, and you sob, falling limp against him and shuddering, even after he’s tucked you into his lap and taken to just petting your back.

It takes you a few minutes to get your wits about you enough to speak, and then you’re just babbling nonsense about how great he is, how much you admire him and how fucking hot he is, and in hindsight you’ll probably be embarrassed about all the things you’re saying but at the moment you’re trying to reassure him that stopping is the last thing you want to do. He waits until you can actually sit yourself up before he shushes you, two clean fingers pressing against your lips.

"Hush on up, I ain’t too good for flattery." He purrs, his free hand on your hip. "Ain’t gonna make you stop if you don’t want to, just lettin you get some rest."

Your chest gets a little tight with some of the aforementioned embarrassment, but you just nod. “O-of course, sir. I apologize.” There’s probably only blood in your skin and your nook right now, you think.

"Shh, cute thing. No worries. You got your legs under you?" He’s still purring, this deep thing that makes you want to press your face into his chest, and you nod, moving to shakily hold yourself over him on your knees. "Good, good. Stay that way, Equius."

His voice on your name makes it sound like a compliment, you think, your pan kind of fuzzy and warm. In the position you are, you can press your face into the side of his neck and his hair, and you do, murmuring the affirmative next to his ear when he asks if you’re okay. Some shuffling under you, and you can finally feel the cold tip of his bulge slither against your thighs, then up, spreading fluids over your legs and skipping your nook to writhe against your wastechute for an instant. You go tense, then relax as he guides his bulge towards your nook.

The tip is a diamond shape, and it trails all around your still-sensitive nook for a few moments, mixing it’s cold fluids with your slightly less cool ones, before pushing insistently inside. You moan when it finally enters you, hips pressing down slightly. It’s  _big_ , even considering his size, and you’re glad when you feel his hand holding himself from just shoving into you. Your noises are soft but constant, telling him to go a little faster, then maybe slower, your thighs shaking as you get a little more than midway down his bulge.

"Sound fuckin, brother, you sound good. Fuckin melody in you." He whispers, thumbs rubbing circles at your hips when you answer him with a little mewl. "You like bein told how pretty you are, don’t you?"

All you manage is a groan, your face pressing into his shoulder, your body locking up as you come again, nook contracting on him and hips pushing down and forward as you ride it out. He growls and kisses your horn, still feeding his bulge into you bit by bit, whispering praise the whole time, and you just shiver, hiccuping from overstimulation and trying to calm down. It’s so much, your nook burns by the time your ass presses to his thighs, your legs spread wide over his lap and your head down, looking at the mess of indigo and blue between you, and…

Fuck, is that his bulge? Your hand moves to rest on the lump in your normally-flat stomach and you sob, your body getting tight. That must be why it’s so hard for you to breathe, of course. He’s petting you all over, rolling his bulge in you and you can see it move, under your own skin. You think you’re going to pass out, the sounds in your throat all high and reedy and desperate, and he has to physically move your head to get you to look at him.

His eyes flick down and you see the recognition in them, then a grin you can’t describe. He makes sure you’re okay and you babble something affirming, your body moving fast like he needs to be shown. When he finally gets you to speak you answer, he kisses you, all slow and smooth and gentle, and you go limp against his chest, moaning into his mouth.

The Highblood keeps kissing you as he moves, not even thrusting, just grinding the base of his bulge into your nook, eventually breaking away to let you breathe and just littering more marks over your neck. It’s too good, all of it, you feel like you should be moving too but you can’t really manage to sit up for long, because then you just watch the lump in your abdomen and drool and tell him that you think you’re falling flush for him, which isn’t the best protocol for a hookup.

Your legs, though, are getting a little sore, and you do manage to shift back, leaning your hands onto his knees and rocking back to look up at him. It’s… Different, from what you’ve (shamefully) seen in pailvids, no cool calm on the Highblood’s face, but he’s biting his bottom lip, ears down and flushed at the tips, eyes slightly narrowed with pleasure, and if you can shut your mouth you can hear quiet, needy sounds slipping out of his mouth. Needy, you realize, for you.

You want to ask how you can help, but you can’t form words right now, so you just kiss him, swallowing the noises he makes and doing what you can to tighten around him, the orgasm in your stomach curling slower and hotter now. He makes this sort of braying noise and moves his hands from under your head to hold your lips at a good angle for him and resting over your hip to the small of your back and your sheathe.

His fingers prod into your sheathe and you shake, squealing when your bulge writhes out an inch, then further, with him bucking into you hard and his hand pulling it out. Your legs decide to work only to buck into his hand and down on his bulge, your tongue almost lolling out of your mouth because you can’t close it, you’re too close, and you keep begging that you need a pail, you need to come, please, please Highblood please.

A snarl tears through his chest when he spills, his bulge twisting to press against that too-hot spot in your nook. You shriek as you’re filled, your seedflap opening to catch his material and your own pouring over his lap. It feels like it goes on for hours, though you’re pretty sure it’s only a minute or two at best, and then he stops grinding into you and you fall against him, limbs all heavy and your head full of cotton.

Vaguely, you notice being moved, but you’re too busy ignoring the ache in your legs and nook to pay attention to it. When he takes your boots off, you make yourself blink fully awake again, looking down at him. He kisses your ankle and smiles a smile like he’s shy, and you feel like you’re about to wake from a dream, even though you feel this pain and it’s a very real, concious pain in all the parts of your body even just somewhat associated with fucking.

His bath, as it happens, is only smaller than his coon. He washes you up, first, telling you over and over that you’re the cutest blueblood he’s ever seen, and that he’s planning on keeping you in for your next ship, easing two fingers into you to get the lump of his material out of you. Then, he carries you easily to his coon, brushing a hand through your damp hair until you fall asleep.

You’re going to be more sore than you were after your first real mission, and god, what will your teachers say? You ask him, groggy, just before you fall out, and he laughs something like “they won’t question me”.

Nepeta will want to know about this… Whatever this ends up being. Maybe it’s nothing.

(You really hope it isn’t nothing.)


	2. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact that the night before actually happened is surprising enough to have you nearly fall over, but this? This is some kind of joke. It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lazy bonus chapter

When you wake up, you're sore. Very sore. Sore like you were the first time you had to do a three-night mission and not sleep two of them. Sore like you ran the grand Alternian Pride marathon.

As you climb out of your coon, still half asleep, you try to piece the previous evening together, stretching to grab the towel on your shelf just across from the raised lid of your coon.

At that moment, you realize what exactly you're sore like. You, Equius Zahhak, 29 sweep-and-four-perigees-old you, are sore like you fucked your superior last night. Your superior as in, second only to )(er )(ighness. The knowledge settles over you just as said superior, who is behind you in his coon, which you slept in with him, yawns and cracks his neck.

"Holy shit." You say, very quietly. "Holy fucking shit."

He drags himself up to stand before you can quite get your legs under you (maybe coming back from a long walking mission and taking something that large wasn't the best idea for that whole "moving without intense aches" thing you hear so much about), and drips slime about a foot from you, his toes wiggling. You can't make any part of yourself move, which sucks, since your ass is in the air and you're feeling like an outtake on a bad vid.

His voice is gentle, even caring when he speaks. "Brother, you uh, need a hand?" As he speaks, he kneels to meet your eye and you notice the bruises on his shoulders and thighs and knees, and find yourself grateful that he seems so calm.

"I would appreciate a hand, yes. If you do not mind." You manage, pulling your voice back from the strained, reedy noise it wants to be. "I apologize for oversleeping."

The Highblood laughs, scooping you up and planting you on your feet, his hands hovering near your waist for a second. "Ain't no thing, bluebro, Equius. If I wanted you out after I pailed you I'da kicked you out then." That's actually comforting to know.

Then, of course, you actually manage to meet his eye, just as you manage to tie a towel around yourself. It takes a few seconds of blankly staring at him for it to connect in your pan that he's got no paint on his skin, and then another couple seconds for it to knock around together that, in your experience, clowns kill trolls that see them unpainted. You can't really compose your thoughts enough to ask so you just stare, eyes widening with sudden, abject panic.

"You ain't lookin so hot, Equius." He murmurs, looking like he might just pick you up to look you over the way a lusus might a grub. Then, recogniton crosses his (pretty) unpainted face, and he lifts a hand to touch his cheek like he's just realizing it. "Oh, uh. Yeah, no, ain't gotta worry none about that!" His hands raise and he waves them in front of his chest a little, looking kind of embarrassed, even a touch of color settling on his cheekbones. "I ain't boutta cull you or nothin, just kinda, 's easier to sleep outta the paint." The way he says it, his shoulders hitching by his ears instead of rolling in a shrug, makes you watch him more closely.

He sighs. He sits down on the floor, still naked as the day he hatched. He takes a deep breath, lets it out in a huff of air, and then seems to recite something to himself, before he finally speaks again, looking at you from his spot on the floor.

"I was kinda hopin we wouldn't need to talk on this so early on, but, well. When I said I seen you around I didn't just say it to fuck you." His voice has no joking tone, perfectly serious but not  _angry_. "Really meant it. Just not too good for real dates, is all. Sorta hoped this would smooth it out, make this whole thing a lil better to swallow."

He's looking at you like he expects a response. "Y-you're not gonna kill me?" Your voice trembles more than you want to accept.

"What? Fuck, no!" He jumps up, then stops and approaches you gingerly, his hand gently, gently resting on your cheek. "No, of course not. I wanna try for your flush, bluebro. Just dinnit want you thinkin that you owed it to me cuzza your station and mine."

You turn your face into his palm, breathe against his skin. "This has to be a prank." The crack your voice does makes you want to just curl up and die.

"No, not at all." He coos, winding himself around you. "Little blueberry brother." The words roll off his tongue like they were meant to fall from his lips. "Never wanna hurt you, not unless you ask." He kisses your forehead, and you let him tilt your face up even though your eyes are starting to leak. "Can't say I love you right yet, but I wanna try for it."

You just kind or watch him for a few seconds, waiting for the punchline, because that's just ridiculous. You, not only being propositioned by The Grand Goshdarn-golly Mothergrubbing Highblood himself, but that he wants to  _date_  you? It's kind of surreal. Next thing you know, you'll find your own ancestor on a mission or )(er Imperious Condecension )(erself will decide to make you her pet.

"Okay." You finally manage, sighing to stop being so tense. It doesn't actually do much, but it looks like the Highblood relaxes.

So, you take a shower. He writes you a slip to get out of missions and training for the day, and he walks you to your block. And that's it. He doesn't crowd you into a corner and snap your pan open to make you some zombie slave to the messiahs, he doesn't pull out a camera and show you exactly why and how you're being expelled from the fleet, nothing like that. He just walks you to your block, crouching in the slightly low tunnels and occasionally steadying you, because your legs are still stiff.

At your door, he presses a little kiss to your cheek and promises to keep in touch, and reminds you to take it easy, and then he ambles back to his post and you're left in the hall smelling like him with a slightly-torn suit and a note with his palmhusk number on it and a greasepaint mark on your face.

"Holy shit." You say, blinking at your hands when you herd yourself inside. "Holy. Fucking. Shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait for these losers to go on skype dates.

**Author's Note:**

> senpai noticed him  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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